The old man looked young,
even when dying.
Worked hard all his life
and was never quick
to tell anyone
about his cancer,
never quick to settle
even after the coughing
left him exhausted night after night,
collapsed in his recliner
with Pat Robertson on the TV.
You might think he would never die
if you saw
the hale greetings at the Lodge
arm-punching and buying drinks.
You never saw how he never wanted
to go home, bought a last round
and slipped away toward the restroom
toward the side exit to pass without notice.
This is a photo I took last week of the decrepit Red Apple Rest in Tuxedo, New York.
In response to the Daily Post’s Layered prompt